


it’s designer

by Star_less



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers as family, Based on a Tumblr Post, Complete, Fluff, Gen, Hurt, I'm Sorry, Infantilism, Iron Dad & Spidey Son, Irondad, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, Parent Tony Stark, Peter & Avengers team, Peter is an Avenger, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Slice of Life, Steve Rogers acting as Peter Parker’s Parental Figure, Superfamily (Marvel), Time Skips, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, grumpy Peter, hoco and avengers assemble are basically taking place one after the other, mostly Tony & Peter centric, spidey dna issues, spideyson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-17 23:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17570111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: “It’s not a diaper bag,” Tony cut, sounding offended as he zipped up the very expensive definitely-not-a-diaper-bag and flounced off in preparation to board the Quinjet. “It’s designer.”A series of... events, leads Tony to discover that all children need looking after in some form, even the ones who are old enough to roll their eyes and scoff at you.Of course he wanted Stark. Tony was... everything to Peter - tried so hard to be everything to Peter - and the pair, they... they were as close as close could be. In Steve’s opinion, the two were father and son in all but name... and what child didn’t want to be without their father?





	it’s designer

**Author's Note:**

> This was rushed. I’m in The Hole. Sorry. To try and get out of The Hole, I wrote this. It’s not my best, and I know it’s not, but I was so fed up of being in The Hole that I had to write something, and this is what emerged. 
> 
> The infantilism tag is there, not necessarily because this story focuses on it (it doesn’t) but because I tend to write Peter as a wee bit younger than he actually is. Just the way I like to write him, I guess :D
> 
> This takes place after Avengers Assemble but I’ve also kinda skipped all the fighting and just sort of... stitched HoCo onto it, like some weird FrankenCanon.
> 
> Based off of this tumblr post, which I found on Instagram:  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/BjuPd25n_nk/?utm_source=ig_share_sheet&igshid=ppxicflr940l

“Mr. Stark!”  
Bouncing on the steps of Avengers Tower, Peter all but yelled into the intercom attached to the door. “I’m here to see Mr. Stark, please let me in!”

Nobody answered him - but the doormen never did speak to him, really, unless he was bursting for a bathroom break at which point they would be begging him not to make a puddle on the steps. With Peter standing back, the door simply unlocked and he went speeding toward the direction of Stark’s room. “Calm it down, Kid Flash!” One of the doormen shouted at him as he ran; Peter heard it loud and clear but... well, he was too excited to listen. 

Across the tower, JARVIS’ voice rang out crisp and clear in Tony’s workshop. “Sir, Mr. Parker is on his way up, are you ready to let him in? He seems most enthusiastic about his tutoring session.”  
Tony smiled to himself. He had agreed that Peter could stay over at the Avengers tower every weekend until he was ready to stay there full time; at the moment, Peter was still a little too attached to May to want to leave her alone entirely - and trial runs had left Peter tearful and distressed. While Peter was at the tower, he could do whatever he pleased — under one condition: he would return on Wednesday evenings for a tutoring session with Stark, 4-6pm on the dot, no later.   
If Tony was being perfectly honest, the teenager didn’t need any tutoring session of any kind. Peter was more than capable of understanding his schoolwork and any work that was placed in front of him; he was a very sharp young man in that respect. It was just... well. The kid, he was well looked after, he certainly didn’t live in squalor but... he didn’t have much. Didn’t want for anything, knew not to ask — was perfectly happy to live with what he had. Tony knew what he was stepping into when he had first gone to talk to Peter at his home in Queens; but he still found it surprising. Of course he did, he had everything handed to him on a plate. And then... factor in this bullying situation with that asshole Flash Thompson. ‘You’re Spider-Man, Peter, you have my full permission to kick his ass, just once. Bet he won’t tease you again.’ Tony had pleaded and pleaded with the boy, but still he refused... seemed happy enough to put his shields up and deal with things.  
Well... Good for him. But it would have killed Tony to find out that Flash had stepped it up a gear, threw a punch at him, or something. That was the entire purpose of the ‘tutoring session’; a check up; Tony making sure that all was well in the world of Peter Parker as any good father would have done for his son - as he wished his own father had done for him. Why a tutoring session? Mm. Well, Tony wasn’t a fan of the whole, ‘sit down mushy gushy’ chat. His father hadn’t ever done anything like that with him regardless of whether he needed it or not. All Tony remembered of his childhood was being tutored by his father; he swore that was the closest to ‘bonding’ they’d ever gotten. Felt natural, somehow, to continue the cycle - in what hopefully was a less fucked up way - with Peter. 

“Hi, Mr. Stark!” Peter beamed, diving into the room and cutting off Tony’s train of thought instantly. “M’ here for the.. the tutoring!”

“Hey, kiddo.” Tony smiled back, warmth in his features as he caught the young boy mid stride, ruffled his hair with one hand, then steered him toward the desk. “Calm down, it’s not the Olympics.”   
Peter settled at the nearby desk with only a pen, pencil, notebook and ruler in his hands; a detail which wiped the smile from Tony’s face somewhat. He frowned; his voice was slow and thoughtful. “Where’s... your backpack?”

“Hm?” Peter twisted in his chair to face his mentor, then ‘Oh’ed bashfully. “I- I lost it. Left it behind somewhere, that’s all. Aunt May said we didn’t have enough money in the rainy-day pot to get a new one, yet. But it’s okay! I can... just put them in my pockets for now.” He smiled and he smiled unwavering, full of blissful optimism, indicating his pockets - and seeming not to notice that Mr. Stark had gone rather a funny shade of white. Well, it wasn’t as if he was asking Stark to buy him a backpack, was it? 

“Kid, no... you can’t carry all your stuff like that. It’s winter - what if it rains?” Tony said with a frown, running a hand stressfully through his temples as he paced and booted up his computer so Peter could begin his work. “If you need me to get you a new—”

“No, Mr. Stark, really.” Peter pleaded, shaking his head. “It’s okay, Aunt May will buy me a new one in a couple of weeks.” They weren’t some sort of charity case, Peter didn’t need the world and his dog to run around after them — he made do with what they had. “It’s fine.”  
He had his hand on Tony’s, flat and warm.   
Sighing, Tony looked down and gave the teenager’s hand a squeeze, conceding defeat unusually easily.   
“Alright, alright kid. I’m sorry. Anything you need to do before you start working?” He let up.  
Peter fidgeted shamefully in the chair. “Kinda forgot to use the bathroom before leaving school this afternoon..?” He offered shyly - as if he was asking Stark for permission, or something. Tony’s eyes widened as he eased out the chair. Jackpot. “Kiddo, go, go! I can wait five minutes.” he urged. Peter sighed happily enough and jumped from his chair, squirming his way out of the room with an urgent little, “thank you!” called back. Tony said nothing - simply watched and waited until the young boy had disappeared. When Tony was positive Peter had gone, he whispered.

“Jarvis, order me in one of those new Iron Man backpacks. The ones I released last week. Next day delivery, straight to the door.”

“Of course, sir. Might I recommend these, too?” 

Ugh. “Can you cut it out with the recommendations thing?” Tony complained with a frown. It was like being nagged at by an overzealous antivirus or something. But then, just as Tony was about to turn away, his eye caught... something. Just a plain, pale blue duffel bag was all it was, with gold accents. Hm. Maybe... maybe it would be a good idea to set up a little... kit. Peter already had a set of spare clothes at the Tower — but not so much toothbrush, toothpaste or deodorant...  
“Sure. Add that duffel to the cart. The Nordstrom one.”

“Of course, sir.”  
~

“Sir, Mr. Parker is down.” Jarvis. Somehow Tony didn’t want to believe it.

“Stark, kid’s down.” Rogers. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Maybe he really did need to believe it.

Kid’s down. Fuck. He knew this was a... a fucking bad idea, knew Peter shouldn’t have been out with them but... God, he had asked so sweetly and given Tony the biggest set of puppy eyes that somehow Tony was enchanted into saying yes regardless of the ramifications. The mission wasn’t meant to have... escalated like this, was no different to the combat Peter had dealt with in the summer really, but... but perhaps he wasn’t trained enough—of course he wasn’t trained enough, he was just a fucking kid. At least... Tony thanked every deity there ever was as he tried to wrench some shaking breaths from his lungs— at least this had happened as the mission wound up, not as it began.   
As Tony pulled himself out of his own head, he became vaguely aware of crying in the distance - crying that sounded too much like the crying of a wounded animal, crying that made his heart ache and drove sheer instinct through his veins; his kid, he had to get to his kid. “Alright. I’ll go to him. Where is he?” He asked through his earpiece. 

“You can’t, Tony.” Steve’s voice was knitted together with a mixture of exhaustion and concern. “You’re needed. I’m close. I’ll take him back to the jet.”  
You can’t. You _can’t_? Who the fuck did Steve Rogers think he was to say he couldn’t see the kid?! “I’m—He’s—” Tony spat, his voice rough with panic. _I’m the closest thing he has to a father,_ is what he wants to say but the words languish on his tongue before fizzling out, _you let me see him right fucking now._  
But.. Christ, Rogers had a point. “We need you now more than ever, you’re of most use. I can risk ducking out.” Steve’s voice slashed through the panicked thoughts whirring within Tony’s head and, admittedly, acted as some sort of antidote. 

“Tell him I’m sorry. See you later.” Tony replied despondently before the two’s communication was cut off. 

“Kiddo? Kiddo, hey there..”  
Steve kneeled down to where the boy was laid awkwardly on the ground like a discarded ragdoll. He tore off the Spider-Man mask and stroked Peter’s cheeks, brushed away the glittering wetness. “You’re safe, you’re safe. We’re going to get you back to the jet.”

“Hurting,” Peter whimpered, tears oozing out of the corners of each eye as he just about recognised the blurry figure in front of him as Captain America. He.. he couldn’t bring himself to say anything else— even if he was fifteen years old now, fifteen years old and almost an Avenger and that made him decidedly grown up— because everything really was hurting and he couldn’t get any breaths in and out of his lungs because his chest ached and then his legs ached and then so did his arms. Wh—what about the rest of the team? No one... no one else was hurt like this, and no one else cried afterward like he did. A lump rose in his throat and branched back down again to his tummy— it made him feel sick. “Is Mr. Stark angry at me?” Peter managed to choke out through his nausea, before whimpering and reaching toward the supersoldier much like a toddler would reach for their father. 

“No, sprout.” Slowly, Steve helped the boy stand, smiling sympathetically at every mewl and whimper the boy produced. “Of course he isn’t.”

Peter felt as though the ground was in the sky and the sky was on the ground— or, or something. He still felt sick. Sick because he had fallen, or sick because he was anxious, Peter wasn’t quite sure— but he felt sick and—and he didn’t like being sick and he especially didn’t want to sick up in front of Cap. To steady his topsy-turvy brain he gripped tightly to both of Steve’s arms — to the extent where even Steve could feel him trembling.  
“I still want to be an Avenger, I’m still an Avenger aren’t I,” Peter pleaded tearfully, his voice a little slurred and... oddly lopsided, as Steve lugged him back toward the Quinjet. Mmn.. Peter felt as though it took too much effort to speak, as if even his teeth and his gums ached with the effort. Hm. Steve didn’t quite like the sound of that, either. Bruce needed to give the kid a once over as soon as possible. “Of course you are, Peter.” He whispered, voice as soothing as he could make it right now, given the circumstances. Fortunately it was enough to quieten the boy... although it was clearly not quite what he wanted.

He ushered the whimpering teenager onto the Quinjet, got him securely into a seat and... then it was quiet. Not awkwardly so; rather the opposite. “Are you comfortable, Peter?” Steve whispered, concerned.   
The boy had obviously sustained injuries while in combat, although this appeared not to stop him from curling up in the seat of the Quinjet in the fetal position with his hands over his head. 

“I want Mr. Stark,” Peter sniffled with a voice that was ever so wet and miserable. His face had crumpled a bit like a wet tissue and when he spoke he sounded... younger, somehow, like he wasn’t quite fifteen. Which was oddly fascinating to Steve, and yet he understood, of course he did. He understood why Peter wanted Stark, too. Of course he wanted Stark. Tony was... everything to Peter - tried so hard to be everything to Peter - and the pair, they... they were as close as close could be. In Steve’s opinion, the two were father and son in all but name... and what child didn’t want to be without their father?  
Steve chuckled, lightly, touching a hand to the younger’s shoulder. Thankfully, Peter seemed to relax at once - so Steve felt he had at least done something right. “I know, Peter. He won’t be too long. Are you okay?” 

Peter sniffled, rubbing his eyes tiredly.   
“Hurts. All hurts.” Plus he was tired; dog tired, oh he felt he could sleep like the dead but—it was cold, and— he didn’t have the blanket, he didn’t have the blanket that he had on his bed in the Tower that made him melt back and sleep the day away. Nor did he have his stuffed animal, and he couldn’t sleep if he didn’t bury his face into the warm golden furred belly of his toy.  
He... didn’t have the energy to elaborate any of this, of course. Not that Peter ever planned on admitting it. An Avenger, still sleeping with a stuffed animal? He... he would be a laughing stock, the laughing stock of the team—most certainly out of the Tower as soon as everybody found out. Still, Steve was sat next to him. Perhaps Steve could see that Peter was less than comfortable, as he began to card his fingers through Peter’s hair. It made Peter flinch for a split second but then... oh, it.. was nice. He couldn’t rub out all of the aches running through Peter’s arms and legs, but he made Peter’s arms and legs feel like jelly and that was even better. All the tension in Peter’s body drained away - just like that. 

It made Peter feel... kinda sleepy, actually. His eyes grew heavy and started to slip closed. “St’v, m’t’rrd,” he whispered, shifting closer to the supersoldier. It was cold... cold in the jet, and it made him shiver and Steve was ever so warm. 

“Come here, kid.” Steve encouraged in nothing but a whisper, putting an arm around the young teen. “Easy.. get some rest now, alright?”  
Peter was quick to go limp with exhaustion against his side, though he shivered a fair bit. Not even the constant gentle carding of Steve’s fingers in his hair was able to soothe him; only once he had practically crawled into Steve’s arms and drank up all of his warmth did the shivering stop. 

Hm. Perhaps it was a good idea to get Peter a blanket, just for the Quinjet... and a first aid kit.  
~

“You alright, Pete?”

Peter slid a little further down in his chair, desperate for Stark to not meet his gaze in the mirror. He had gone out. Nowhere spectacular; just a couple hours training by himself — and then a few more hours burning off some steam with May at the brand new adventure trail downtown. To top it all off it was a Friday, and so Mr. Stark had decided to drive right to the trail and pick him up to stay for the weekend.  
It had been an unusually hot day, for Queens at least, considering a Spring was only just peeking around the winter clouds.   
Peter swore he could crisp up some bacon on his skin it was so burned. But... well, aside from some burned patches on his face that made him look as if he had leopard prints, it wasn’t exactly his sunburn that was of issue.

He was hungry.

It.. it wasn’t as if May didn’t feed him, or anything. He had eaten breakfast, and then gone to school and thrown himself into training with so much excitement that he had entirely forgotten about getting himself any lunch, not even a sandwich from Delmar’s. Then he had come home and Aunt May had said, hey, someone at book club said the new adventure trail opened up, wanna go check it out? so he had spent another cheery few hours throwing himself over monkeybars and screaming down a zip line while attached to May’s back. Then he had been bundled off and tottered (only slightly dizzily) into Stark’s awaiting car.  
His fast metabolism, after all, meant that Peter needed food a little more often than most other kids. Bigger portions, extra snacks — the rest of the Avengers were accustomed to scraping their leftovers into tubs for Peter to snaffle up as and when he needed and he was perfectly happy to take them. All of the food he ate and yet he still stayed as thin as a rake. May said there would be more meat on a sparrow.

And now he was hungry.

And it was making him grumpy.

“I’m fine.” Peter told Stark with slightly more venom than was necessary; not that he could see Stark, mind you, as his vision was kinda blurry. Hell, over the angry thundering of his forehead (seriously - it was as if Thor was striking him in the head with Mjolnir, over and over) he could just about hear Stark, too. His empty belly would growl and mewl and claw at him endlessly, and sometimes the hunger pains were so bad he was doubled over, pulling the seatbelt away from where it was digging in and trying to (silently) wrench as many painful breaths up as he could. Plus Mr. Stark seemed to have chosen to go across as many bumpy roads as possible, and his belly was twisting and turning so he felt sick even when there was nothing in his belly to sick up.

From Stark’s viewpoint, Peter looked... grey. Tony may not have known an awful lot about kids, but he knew one thing; kids didn’t tend to go funny colours unless something was wrong. “Are you sure you’re alright, kid, because you look like you’re—”

“I said I’m fine. Will you just listen to me for once,” Peter snarled. He regretted it the second he’d spoke, of course, and quite wondered what was wrong with him while his heart pounded so hard in his chest he thought he was dying.   
Tony’s eyes widened. Peter had never been one to snap at him. Clint had warned him - spent plenty gleeful hours scoffing and saying, ‘teenage years, just you wait until he starts getting cheeky’ - to which Tony had scoffed in return and waved his hand and said ‘not this one’, because really - Peter was a good boy. Or apparently not so. Tony made a mental reminder that he now owed Clint $5.  
“Whoa. Kid, okay. No big deal, just a question. I’ll leave you alone.” Tony laughed. 

Laughed, but... well, perhaps it was Peter’s imagination, but he swore that there was a little... sadness in his voice. Peter inhaled sharply, shocked at himself—he hadn’t yelled at Mr. Stark for a long time—then sank further back into the hard leather of the car seat in an attempt to protect himself. His eyes welled over with tears; his face was hot.  
 _No,_ he told himself. _Don’t cry. What are you, a toddler? Do you want Mr. Stark to see you crying?_

Peter snivelled, rubbed his tummy with one hand, wiped his eyes with the other. Sat up.

“Hangry,” Happy mouthed to Stark from upfront.

“What?”

Happy gestured to Peter, made an eating gesture. “Hangry.”

Tony scoffed. Happy nodded, rather seriously. “Guarantee it.”

There was some hesitation. “Kid,” Tony began, “McDonalds in ten.”  
He didn’t have to ask for Peter’s go-to order because he already knew it—Quarter Pounder with cheese, extra pickles, squished a little - medium fries and a Sprite—so stayed quiet and, once the McDonald’s was in his lap, squeezed it through the tiny gap between the front and back seats as if he was giving a ravenous lion its breakfast, not Peter.

...Then again, evidently, the two weren’t so different. The teenager hoovered up the meal in what must have been under 10 minutes and, with a tiny burp, the sour atmosphere within the car had entirely drained. So was Tony’s wallet, as he now owed Happy $5.

“How do you know so much about kids?” Tony asked Happy, incredulity evident in his voice as he threw a scrunched up $5 at him, shaking his head. His attention quickly fell to Peter who was practically skipping into the Tower as if nothing was wrong.

Happy simply laughed at him. In the Tower, Tony had Jarvis remind him to stock up on snacks for any long trips.  
~

First aid kit. Animal crackers. Flapjacks in case he didn’t like the animal crackers. Blanket. Sunscreen because he had burned that one time. Water, perhaps he needed some water? Tony ran a hand through his hair - then rubbed his temple - as he paced the floor and tossed item after item into the open duffel bag on the floor of the Tower common room. “Do you think he needs earphones?” He asked Clint, concern etched in every feature. 

“I don’t think you’re going to fit any more into that oversized diaper bag, Tony.” Clint scoffed, chuckling to himself. “‘Sides, it’s only a short mission.”

“It’s not a diaper bag,” Tony cut, sounding offended as he zipped up the very expensive definitely-not-a-diaper-bag and flounced off in preparation to board the Quinjet. “It’s _designer_.”

**Author's Note:**

> my apologies if there are any mistakes. not feeling my best atm so in all honesty proofreading this has slipped my mind. kinda sad.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please, pleeeease leave a comment or a kudos. I really appreciate them, they give me so much joy. They might help me get outta The Hole. I dunno. 
> 
> xx


End file.
